Recently I had someone ask me if the woman she had seen me with was my “real mother”. The Postman beat me to the answer with “No, it’s JUST her mother.”
I cannot tell you how much that question pisses.me.off.
First off, my mother and I are NOT bff’s. Never were. Never will be. A lot happened in my childhood and adolescence that I wish never had. Without divulging too much information, I’ll just say that it probably wasn’t intentional and she couldn’t help some of it. It’s still painful even with that knowledge.
It was her who stood at the end of the driveway on my first day of school, and many thereafter, waving to me as I was whisked away on the bus. It was her who braided my hair every.single.day. until second grade when I got it cut short like Dorothy Hamill.
It was her who drove me to countless softball practices and games and became a Girl Scout Troop Leader.
It was her who held my hair back
the first time I got drunk and sick when I got the flu.
She helped me buy a car when I was 16. She helped pay for college. She adores her grandchildren.
So while she is not my biological mother, she is my REAL mother. So stop asking such stupid questions, mmkay?
It’s not easy being a mother. If it were easy, fathers would do it. ~From the television show The Golden Girls